and the shrill voice of the Queen ordering off her unfortunate

guests to execution--once more the pig-baby was sneezing on the

Duchess's knee, while plates and dishes crashed around it--once

more the shriek of the Gryphon, the squeaking of the Lizard's

slate-pencil, and the choking of the suppressed guinea-pigs,

filled the air, mixed up with the distant sobs of the miserable

Mock Turtle.

  So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in

Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and

all would change to dull reality--the grass would be only

rustling in the wind, and the pool rippling to the waving of the

reeds--the rattling teacups would change to tinkling sheep-

bells, and the Queen's shrill cries to the voice of the shepherd

boy--and the sneeze of the baby, the shriek of the Gryphon, and

all thy other queer noises, would change (she knew) to the

confused clamour of the busy farm-yard--while the lowing of the

cattle in the distance would take the place of the Mock Turtle's

heavy sobs.

  Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of

hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how

she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and

loving heart of her childhood:  and how she would gather about

her other little children, and make THEIR eyes bright and eager

with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of

Wonderland of long ago:  and how she would feel with all their

simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys,

remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days.

                             THE END